“Aerie…” he said after a lengthy, and mildly awkward silence. “If I told you something… would you believe me?”
“Absolutely. You never lie.”
A glimmer of a smile played about his mouth, and then faded away completely. He licked his lips before continuing. “You are aware of certain facilities where people are treated for mental illness, yes?”
“
Er
… yeah. Why?”
“That was the place I was afraid of going. I am still afraid of that place. That’s why I won’t tell anyone else I’ve forgotten my attacker. They’ll send me there.”
“
Wh
-what? You’re not mentally ill! Why would someone-” I checked myself, “-your father take you to a place like that?”
“Because I am mentally unstable. I believe you have been ignoring the signs.” He stared me right in the eye, “Nightmares, panic attacks, irrational fears, depression,
reluctance to create relationships..
.”
C
ouldn’t reply.
After a moment, he looked back towards the window. “I had been… treated for the worst of all of it in that place.”
All he received from me is more silence.
“They were trying to cure me of my homosexuality, once it was evident I was afflicted with it. They would… do these tests, and treatments… and-” his throat made a weird noise, and he looked away.
At that, I snapped, and jumped out of my chair. “They did
what?!
That’s evil! Being gay is not a mental
illness!!!
What the hell is wrong with them? With
him?!
Your father is disgusting! How could any par
ent do this to their child?” H
eard my voice crack there.
He was petrified, his one eye wide and his mouth slightly agape.
“Noah… Noah… I’m so sorry.” I stepped to his bedside, gently taking him in my arms. “It’s not fair.”
“What is done cannot be undone. It is something that has happened; there is no way to erase it.”
“I’m sorry.” R
epeated
that maybe a million times. L
ost track.
He tugged on my
shirt sleeve
, moving over on the bed for me to lie beside him. Immediately complying, I got into bed beside
him, holding him in my arms. T
hought that maybe, just by holding him, I could help alleviate some of that pain. That torturous secret that he finally freed, it ate away at us, corroding the serenity we often shared.
Time forgot us for hours, allowing us to just lie there, in a strained silence, taking comfort in each other’s embrace.
This love was not an illness.
This is not something to be cured.
This is not a sickness.
71 Days, 18 December, Thursday
Today passed like eating an orange. (I’m trying out metaphors here) It unwound slowly as it began, and then seemed to go in fits and starts, like each segment, until we arrived at the end.
Noah is almost well enough to be discharged, except for the worrisome fracture on his cheekbone. Evidently it’s less of a problem than it might have been, since he’s already blind in that eye, so the doctors are being less proactive to save his vision.
Which I’m kind of unsure is a good or bad thing.
Well
sure, he doesn’t need immediate attention, but that doesn’t mean he can be ignored.
The police also came in today, and had all sorts of questions about the intruders. Noah said he wasn’t sure about the identity of the man. He seemed to be able to describe what he looked like, but not who he was.
The police officers also asked me a few questions, mainly about my impression of Noah and the likelihood of a break-in.
“Well, his family is rich, I guess, so burglars wouldn’t be a surprise… but…”
The female officer was very attentive, “What? You seem to have something on your mind.”
“I really don’t think this was a robbery gone wrong.”
“What do you think happened?”
“Honestly… I think it was his father.”
“That’s a serious claim. Do you realise what you’re saying?”
“It’s what I truly believe.”
“Well, we’re going to set Noah up with a sketch artist, since he claims not to remember the identity, but can recall the man’s features. It seems odd that he wouldn’t identify his father if it was him, doesn’t it?”
That shook my resolve. H
adn
’t actually thought of that. W
as so unswervingly convinced of his father’s guilt that I didn’t think of anyone else.
And he told me. He told me that he didn’t know the man.
Does this absolve his father?
He just fini
shed with the sketch artist. W
as allowed a look at the picture.
As soon as I looked at it, I was confused. It was a perfect image of what his father looked like.
“But-” I looked back at him, “This is him.”
“Who?” The detectives and Noah asked in unison.
“This is your father.”
Noah looked incredibly confused, and then took the picture back. He touched his face, running his fingers across his forehead. “I don’t know this man. He is a stranger to me.”
H
eard the detectives talking amongst themselves.
“He’s obviously confused. He doesn’t remember his attacker, so he’s trying to blame his father. He’s got a history of this kind of behaviour.” The tall man muttered, though his partner looked unconvinced.
“He’s obviously confused, yeah, but I think he’s just blocked his attacker from his mind, and in this case, it’s his father. Amnesia in post-traumatic stress disorder patients is something we deal with all the time!”
Her partner still looked disbelieving, but he nodded. “Right, let’s go and check out the father then.”
They turned to both of us, and the female detective smiled, “We’re going to get to the bottom of this, guys. We won’t let this go without justice.”
“Thank you.” Noah said softly, and I took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.
He waited until they were gone to speak again. “Aerie, are you certain of what you said? That is was my father?”
“I’m positive. I met him before, remember?”
“I suppose.” He shuffled over on his bed, once again prompting me to climb in beside him.
As I was getting settled, he asked me another question.
“We… we are in love, aren’t we?”
“Absolutely.” I answered immediately.
“That is something I remember. You are my love.”
Sometimes, the things he says are so cheesy and romantic, I can scarcely believe he says them so unabashedly.
So that’s why I feel so comfortable being cheesy and romantic right back.
“Always and forever, w
e’ll be happy for eternity.” K
issed him softly, and pulled the blankets over both of us. “I love you, Noah.”
70 Days, 19 December, Friday
C
an’t believe there’s
only a week until Christmas. L
ove this whole season.
The snow, and the lights, the happy people.
It’s a lovely time of year.
And Noah has been told to come and stay with
me and Terra
for it.
Actual doctor’s orders.
Seriously.
His father came to pick him up today.
“Excuse me, I’m here to pick up my son.”
A familiar voice, that deep
commanding
voice.
O
verheard this as I was returning to Noah’s room with some tea. Horrified, I turned and looked to see if it was really his father. He glanced at me, and frowned, and I hurried away, avoiding his gaze.
As soon as I returned to Noah’s room, I closed the door quickly, slamming my back against it. This prompted a curious look from him as he glanced up from his book.
“What is the matter?” he asked, still with that same curious look.
“Your father, he’s here. He’s coming to pick you up.”
“That does not sound like a good thing.”
“No kidding. What are we going to do?”
“Would hiding be an appropriate strategy?”
T
hought about that for a few beats, and then nodded. “Right, where are we going to hide then?”
“How about down in the sunroom? We could be very evasive there.” At this point, I think he had forgotten he was afraid of his father.
“Right.” I opened the door a crack as he got out of bed, and waved him over. “I don’t see him yet. Let’s go.”
We hurried down the hallways, avoiding the inquisitive glances from everyone else. Noah glanced back down the hallways as we took a corner, and gasped audibly.
“
That man.
That man is
behind us
.”
U
shered him around the corner, and then stole a glance back as well. His father was now asking a nurse why there wasn’t anyone in the room.
“Um, uh…” L
ooked around wildly, trying to find something I coul
d fight his father off with. D
on’t know why that was my first impulse. Usually, I’d take flight rather than fight. Something about Noah brings out my ferocity though.
L
ooked around the corner again, and saw his father heading down this way.
“Whoa, we have to get out of here. C’mon.” I took his hand, and led him down the hallway, running as fast as he could manage. We stood beside another corner, taking another subtle look. His father marched on, glowering at everything in his search for us.
“Right.” I said. Noah stared at me, biting his lip. “Right. Um.”
And then there it was.
A janitoria
l sanctuary right beside us.
T
wisted the knob and pulled him inside, closing it and enveloping us in the complete darkness and the smell of disinfectant.
He sucked in a deep breath, tensing in my arms.
“I know you’re scared.” I whispered. His hair tickled my cheek as I leaned closer to him. “But you’re safe with me. I won’t let you go.”
His heartbeat raced as I held him, and the heat from his body sunk into my chest, setting my own heart off.
After my eyes adjusted to the dark, we could see the shadows of feet underneath the door, milling about with no regard for us.
Which is good, I suppose.
We must have remained there, breathing in the dark for at least fifteen minutes. He didn’t move from where I held him, his back flush up against my chest. It was a little unnerving feeling the sharp edges of his shoulder blades against my chest. He’s so thin.
W
anted
to say something meaningful. D
id think of a few things, but didn’t know how I would bring them up in a closet full of mops. It’s not really the most romantic of settings.
Eventually, I made a move to get up, and he tensed up. “Please wait. I do not believe it is safe yet.”
“Are you sure? I mean
,
it’s been a while.”
He was silent.
“Noah?”
It was weird, normally I can tell what he’s thinking or feeling just by looking at his face, but it was so dark that it was really difficult to tell. Tentatively, I
placed my lips on his neck
, using the contact to read his emotions. If I can’t have his expression, I’ll use his emotions.
There didn’t really seem to be much there. He was
more blank
than I’d ever felt him to be.
There was a bit of fear, probably a result of the dark, and then, suddenly, a lot of anger.
“What are you angry about?”
Silence.
“Noah, what’s the matter?”
“I thought I told you I hate questions.” His tone was biting, harsh. Something his voice should never do. It hardly even sounded like him.
Almost more like…
“Tobias.”
“Why did you call to me?”
“What? I didn’t. What the hell are you doing here?
How…?
Are you possessing him or something?”
“I suppose you could call it possession. It seems I was mistaken. I was under the impression you had called to me. Your call was powerful enough to allow me to take over.”
“I didn’t call for you. How did you possess him? Are you hurting him?”
“He may be in some distress. It is rather dark in here.”
“Well then let him go! He’s terrified of the dark!”
“I have something to discuss with you.”
“What? Make it quick and let him go. If you’re hurting him-”
“Be quiet.” Tobias’ voice was sharp again, cutting my words short. “I wanted to ask you… How dare you?”